


Let your heart be light

by halo_dean



Series: Something they can never take away [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (basically i posted this on christmas and nobody noticed so i'm reuploading bc i need attention), A ton of ominous references of the characters' past that nobody except me will understand hehe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Baking, Brooklyn Flowers verse, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, French Kissing, I hate myself, I'm desperate, M/M, Mention of Physical and Emotional Abuse, Multi, Paris (City), Platonic Cuddling, Pregnancy, Reading Aloud, Singing, Snow, Texting, Walks In The Park, anyway moving on, lmao get it bc they're in france, when will i ever stop it with the walks in the park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 05:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13229250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halo_dean/pseuds/halo_dean
Summary: >> Have yourself a merry little ChristmasLet your heart be lightFrom now on all our troubles will be out of sight(How the Squad spends their Christmas Eve) ~ reupload





	1. Thomas Jefferson - James Madison - Angelica Schuyler

**Author's Note:**

> HI HELLO  
> I'M BACK
> 
> Again, sorry for disappearing for like another entire month, I don't really have a good explanation except for maybe exam season and that life, in general, was busy and draining as fuck. You know how it is. Sorry ^^'
> 
> Okay. So, as some of you may know (if you follow me on Tumblr @nordpolkind :p), after posting the start of my long awaited next long work 'Window Seat', I kind of lost all my inspiration for that universe in the process of outlining it, so I'm very sorry, but that story is officially on a break now. I just have too much to do to work on it at the moment. I am planning to return to it, but it might be a while. Dont wait up for me.
> 
> Other than that, December started and a little bit like last year, everyone around me started working on Christmas stuff, and so I felt like throwing my little two cents in the game and started outlining a mess of one-shots from my good old (already established and therefore way less exhausting) Brooklyn Flowers universe.
> 
> So here you have it. A one-shot collection with huge gaps and open ends and plot turns and -holes that nobody can explain. This is what I was working on for hypothetically the whole of December, but actually, just the past few days because like I said, life was very, very busy.
> 
> I really do hope you guys like it! There will be some more announcements towards the end, so stick with me! Hope you enjoy! ♥♥
> 
> Quick disclaimer:  
> Firstly, this is a work from an established universe. It's about the characters from my long work Brooklyn Flowers. You can pretty much read it separately, but a couple of details will be confusing if you haven't read Brooklyn Flowers (and that horrendous one shot that was mostly smut that I posted on John's birthday eww).  
> Secondly, this is almost 20k and the last time I put 20k into one chapter, everyone revolted, so I decided to cut this into smol bits for you. So make sure you don't only read the first one (like my girlfriend did ajshgdfajshgdf I'm sorry I should have pointed that out, love)!
> 
> Also, this is a re-upload. I decided to take this work down because it got lost in the annual mess of Christmas fics posted on this site and the fact that it got little to no response was just kind of. Underwhelming. Depressing. Take your pick.  
> And so I took it down, fixed a couple of mistakes and stuff, and now I'm reuploading because like I said, I'm desperate for attention and validation adsjhfgkhjg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas tree counting in the snow, kisses, studying

 

THOMAS LAUGHED TRIUMPHANTLY, nudging James’ shoulder when he spotted a Christmas tree through the first story window of an apartment building, startling the other man as his laugh echoed across the mostly empty, dark street.  
  
“Hah! Thirty- _fucking_ -seven! I’m _six_ ahead now, Jemmy!” He grinned, showing off all his teeth, and James next to him, half his face buried in his scarf, rolled his eyes with a fond smile, nudging Thomas’ shoulder back. “I know, jerk,” he muttered, and Thomas, his grin deepening and turning slier, leaned even closer, brushing the knuckles of his free hand that wasn’t intertwined with his boyfriend’s own and stowed in the warmth of his coat pocket over the other’s cool cheekbones. “You know what that means?” he teased, eyeing James, who rolled his eyes again, even more dramatically this time. He didn’t reply, shaking his head softly and refusing to look at Thomas’ goofy grin.  
  
“It means you, my dear, really gotta step up your game here, or _you’re_ calling Dave tomorrow to send us the final notes of our political science class of 2017.” Thomas laughed again when James let out an exasperated noise and untangled their fingers, pulling them out of his coat pocket and exposing them to the cool evening air before pushing Thomas away again, chuckling a “Fuck _off_!” as he sent Thomas stumbling a few feet behind him on the sidewalk.  
  
A woman in a raspberry beret passing them threw them him a brief smile; the street was mostly empty, only stray pedestrians and the occasional cyclist on their way back home passing them. Thomas hadn’t paid their surroundings of a slightly snowed in, quiet, cobbled Parisian street much mind; he was too caught up in holding James’ hand – just the fact that he got to do that now, had been allowed to for about four months now made him giddy – and trying not to freeze to death as they strolled down the street to the closest metro station from the park they’d walked in, counting Christmas trees in houses and shops as they went.  
  
And yes, maybe Thomas had counted a few more than he’d actually seen, but how was he supposed to keep track of that number with James looking so irresistibly adorable in his oversized wool coat next to him, his hair having gotten a tad bit too long during their months in Paris and with his eyes blown in the twilight? Thomas smiled to himself, watching as his boyfriend, in a fresh rush of annoyance, rolled his eyes once more, turning away so Thomas couldn’t see the start of a smile creeping onto his face.  
  
The cool air nipped at Thomas’ skin, and he was breathing heavily, laughter still bubbling out of him; it was so cold that his chest ached slightly every time he inhaled, but he didn’t mind, bit back another laugh and fell into a half-jog to catch up with James.  
  
“Oh, come on! Don’t be like that!” Thomas was still grinning when he fell back into step next to James. He was still smirking, couldn’t bring himself to stop, and took the other man’s hand, letting them swing between the two of them for a few steps before pushing them with finality into his own coat pocket.  
  
“You are aware that we wouldn’t be in this situation right now if you hadn’t counted like fifteen nonexistent trees? Isn’t Christmas supposed to be, like the holiday of generosity and honesty or whatever?” James’ fingers tightened around Thomas’ hand, causing him to smile and hum in protest. “Let me live,” he muttered, leaned over clumsily, shuffling a little as he kissed James’ temple before spotting something shiny out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“ _Yes_! Thirty-eight!” he hollered, and James gasped, a frown painting his face as he let his free hand collide with Thomas’ upper arm. “Shut _up_! I swear to God, the last one you counted was the thirty-sixth, and you know what comes after thirty-six? thirty-seven, moron! Stop _cheating_!”  
  
He barely had time to finfish his sentence before he couldn’t hold in a burst of laughter creeping up his throat anymore and tipped his head back, letting it bubble out of him, his breath turning into fog above their heads.  
  
A while after James had calmed down again and they’d walked a few feet in silence, Thomas squeezed his hand, unable to stifle his smile when James instantly squeezed back, leaned over and nudged his shoulder. Thomas leaned more into his side and looked down at him. “What is it?”  
  
He watched while James just shook his head softly, taking a breath and smiling down at their intertwined fingers. “Oh, it’s nothing, just… I’m glad we’re here. I’m just really glad we’re here,” he murmured, and Thomas bit his lip to stop his smile from deepening. He drew in a cool breath.  
  
“Well-“ he paused, leaned impossible closer to James and ran his thumb over the back of the other man’s hand. “-I’m glad, too,” he finished, meaning it. The months they’d spent together in Paris had been so slow and peaceful and refreshingly different from home, and if he was being honest, the thought of returning to the grey Moloch that was New York City filled Thomas with dread and a sort of vast discomfort.  
  
If he was being honest, he just wanted to stay here in Paris; quit Uni, open another flower shop or work at a café, and come home to James in the evening. He didn’t want to go back, he wanted to stay in this absolute, dreamy parallel universe across the Atlantic, with James at his side and the obligations and pressing responsibilities of home far away. He didn’t want anything flashy, he didn’t want anything exciting, all he wanted was to be with James and be happy. That’s what he really wanted.  
  
The other man interrupted his train of thought when he squeezed his hand, smiled and said “Good.” before pointing his free hand at the metro station they were closing in on.  
  
James lead the way, grinning, pulling Thomas down the stairs into the station and through empty, neon-illuminated tunnels to the platform, where they had to run to catch their train, stumbling hand in hand into one of the cars just before the doors shut.  
  
They dropped into two seats with a sigh from both of them while the subway started off, slowly rolling, screeching, clattering as Thomas leaned into James’ side and looked around the car. They were the only ones in here, and he was briefly reminded of that night in late September, that cold one where the car had been empty, too, and James had pushed him up against the closed subway door, and Thomas had never felt more alive.  
  
He managed to retrieve his mind from the place it wanted to wander, and looked back at James. “Why the fuck is no one here?” He asked, and James shrugged, looking around the car as well.  
  
“Don’t know. Maybe-“ He left off and slid his hand into his coat pocket, getting out his phone and checking it quickly. He looked surprised, and Thomas nudged his shoulder.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
James didn’t reply for a second; he was silent, then locked his phone again and started playing with Thomas’ fingers. He leaned closer, until his lips were just off Thomas’ ear, and then raised his voice.  
  
“Thomas. Thomas, I think it’s Christmas Eve. We’re missing _Christmas Eve_ because we disappeared from the states without telling anyone,” he muttered, and Thomas blinked, thinking _of course. Of course, how did I fucking forget Christmas?_ He’d lost track of time during December simply because everything had been so much fun, and now, it was Christmas, and he didn’t have a present for James, much less a tree for the loft. He laughed shakily.  
  
“At least we won’t have to witness Laurens’ father trying to call him, then. That just keeps getting sadder every year."  
  
“That's not funny.”  
  
"I know. I wasn't trying to be"  
  
James grinned sadly, leaning close and reaching out to touch Thomas’ cheek, press a kiss to his jaw where his head was still near Thomas’ ear. He must have seen the goose bumps rise along the other man’s neck and took it as his cue to pull off Thomas’ hat, freeing his hair and running his hand through it with a hum. He eyed Thomas’ face, the corners of his mouth curving upward, ran his thumb over cheekbones and lips, causing Thomas to shiver at the cool touch and the winter air nipping at his skin and the contrast of James’ warm gaze on him.  
  
“You’re beautiful,” James whispered after a beat, and Thomas sighed, leaned into his touch, and blinked slowly, looking at James with wide eyes.  
  
“Yeah? Well, you are gorgeous,” he replied, voice almost a purr, and James rolled his eyes with a fond grin.  
  
“And we’re both disorganized idiots for forgetting Christmas,” he muttered, before finally slipping his cool hand into the warmth of Thomas’ scarf, wrapping it around the back of the other man’s neck and pulling him in.  
  
Their lips met in a clash of hot breath and cold lips, hands digging into hair and arms, and Thomas only managed to keep his eyes open for a second before they slipped shut and he melted into James, parting his lips with a sigh, tipping his face further down to give James better access. Warm tongues slipped into warm mouths and Thomas couldn’t hold back a whimper when James bit at his lip, wrapped his arms tighter around the other’s torso.  
  
He reveled in the warmth radiating off James’ small body, ran his hand down James’ side to press them into the small of his back and run them over his waist, gasping in tandem with the other man when his hand tightened in his hair. They kissed deeply, slowly, breathing labored in the empty train car. Every movement was sending warm, syrupy sparks down Thomas’ spine, and he could already feel himself stirring, the thought of unbuttoning James’ coat spinning in his head, when out of some corner of his consciousness, he noticed a voice from the speakers announcing their stop.  
  
He pulled away more reluctantly than he had ever remembered being, rested his forehead against James’ for a beat, then grabbed his hand. “We gotta get off,” he managed. His lungs were aching from the lack of breath and he pressed his free hand to his chest as he pulled a breathlessly laughing James to his feet.  
  
“That was the worst innuendo you’ve ever taken into your mouth, Jefferson,” he muttered, stressing his phrasing. Thomas barked a laugh, pulling him out of the opening doors into the cold, completely empty station.  
  
Giggling and still stealing kisses from one another, they made their way out of the station and up the stairs onto the street, and about halfway up, James noticed it.  
  
He stopped abruptly beneath the archway at the top of the steps, and Thomas stumbled to a halt beside him, grinning, out of breath and confused, until he, too, seemed to realize why James had stopped.  
  
It was snowing.  
  
Thick white flakes were tumbling from the sky, silent and slow, settling on James’ coat and melting in Thomas’ messed up hair, landing on the sidewalk and cars and streetlights and fences. The snow made the whole street sleepy and mute and buried it beneath a blanket that swallowed all the unpleasant noise.  
  
James had lifted his head and was staring up at the swarming snowflakes above their heads, the few people who had been on the same train as them making their way around them and into the street as they both watched the sky dreamily, eyeing the snowflakes coming down over the street.  
  
“I really didn’t think we’d get to see any this year,” James breathed, and Thomas tilted his head away from the sky to see the other man smile from the corner of his eye.  
  
“Me neither. It’s been so warm this whole time, I thought there was no way in the world… guess we’re just really lucky.”  
  
James felt Thomas’ warm hand sneaking its way into his, tangling their fingers and suddenly, he got the feeling he was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing. He was in Paris with the love of his life and his best friend, and he was happy, so, _so_ happy, and he was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing, he was exactly who he was supposed to be.  
  
They stood, fingers intertwined, at the top of the steps, James leaned into Thomas’ side until the other man squeezed James’ hand. “Let’s get going.” Thomas murmured after a while, pulling James in the direction of the small park instead of just down the street.  
  
“Where are we going?” James asked with a sleepy laugh, and Thomas didn’t look back.  
  
“We have to pay our respects to the snow properly. We’re taking the long way home,” he replied with a smile in his voice. James shivered, both because of the cool air hitting him because of an entirely different reason when Thomas turned back around and unbuttoned his coat messily, slipping his arm into the warmth of it and pulling James close to his side, ducking his head to kiss his neck hotly as soon as they were in the cover of the trees. He felt his head spin and slung his arm around the small of Thomas’ back to steady himself as his boyfriend kept kissing the side of his face, his jaw, his neck.  
  
They walked silently, wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing body heat, surrounded by bushes and dark and quiet and the white snow that fell and fell to the ground and looked like it was here to stay for a while.  
  
The noise of the city seemed so far gone here in the park; they were together, in their world alone, and nothing could harm them, and James was dizzy off Thomas’ touch and, eager to get home and properly get to feel his skin against him, started walking a little faster. Thomas complied, and after a while, they untangled their arms from one another and James grasped Thomas’ hand again as they started running again. James’ heart was racing in his chest, the only sounds in the silence of the night his heavy breath and their steps. They ran, and James felt his lips curve up into a smile against the cool wind.   
  
They stopped running when they reached their apartment building, and Thomas grasped James’ face with both his hands, kissing him hungrily and leaving him dizzy and out of breath. He let go of James to search his pockets for his keys, and James, still feeling dizzy, watched, panting, his breath forming clouds in the air. Thomas couldn’t find the right key, was cursing quietly, breathing heavily, as well, looking back at James every now and then with wide eyes and parted lips, eyeing him up and down  
until he returned his attention to his keys. James reached out and tugged at his sleeve.  
  
“Hey,” he managed, and Thomas let out a small triumphant noise, finally having found the key he was looking for. He glanced back at James then, who put a hand on the side of his face and pulled his face down towards him to kiss him slowly, running his hand through his hair and nipping at Thomas’ lower lip until the other moaned softly, tipping his face further towards him for more contact. That’s when James broke away, leaving Thomas with a longing whimper on his lips, eyes wide and unable to keep off of James, who smoothed his hair down and ran his thumb over his swollen lip and smiled.  
  
“Joyeux Noël, mon chéri,” he breathed, and Thomas huffed a shaky laugh.  
  
“Joyeux Noël à toi aussi, mais… s’il te plaît, chérie, on peut rentrer à la maison maintenant?” Thomas looked at him pleadingly, and James obliged. He loosened his grip on the lapels of Thomas’ coat letting him turn around and unlock the door with shaky fingers and pull him into the warm, dark hallway, hands on his neck. Once they were inside, James gave the door a nudge. It fell shut just as their lips touched, hiding the two lovers from the eyes of the city outside and welcoming them home.

 

ANGELICA COULDN’T BELIEVE SHE WAS DOING THIS TO HERSELF. It was Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake. She was supposed to be with her sisters, or her friends, or at least her parents, celebrating and not giving a fuck about whatever it was she was supposed to do according to her cardiology professor. She should be having some great dinner right now, happily smile at a Christmas tree and at her softly bantering relatives or something, and she definitely shouldn’t feel like her eyes were bleeding from staring at the screen of her laptop for too long.  
  
The small digital clock in the lower right corner of her notebook read 7.30 pm, which meant she hadn’t moved in at least two hours. Or when was the last time she’d gotten a new cup of coffee? Hadn’t it been three hours?  
  
Either way, her coffee was empty, and she couldn’t feel her face, and it was Christmas Eve, and she, Angelica Schuyler, the queen of having her life together and getting shit done, was in the library, staring at a diagram of heart-lung disorders and trying to figure out how she’d gotten herself into this position.  
  
_Sophomore year in College will do that to you, Angelica_ , wasn’t that what James always said when she complained to him about her poor sleep schedule and about how worryingly often she’d had ramen for dinner the past month during their skype calls? Well, fuck that, she was missing Christmas, for fuck’s sake, her favorite holiday – except of course for the massive, blind, uncontrolled capitalist-market-supporting consummation of products part and the erasure of non-Christian religions’ holidays from the mental map of humankind through the ongoing globalization and the glorification of Christian traditions.  
  
She sighed deeply, realizing just how many curls of hair had slipped out of her bun and pulled her bleary eyes away from the screen of her notebook. It really was time for a break.  
  
She stood a little shakily, arched her back until it cracked, redid her bun and grabbed her wallet, not even caring about leaving all her stuff just lying around. She picked up the two empty to-go-cups off her desk, then started strolling away from her cubicle, tossing the cups into a bin that she passed on her way out of the med section of the library.  
  
Angelica went to the coffee shop in the law section, leaned against the counter and waited, absently chewing on her lower lip while the barista completed her at least third order of two large Americanos tonight. She thought a little about James and Thomas in Paris, about what her sisters might be doing, what Alex and John and Lafayette and Hercules might be doing, then her mind slipped back to the book she had procrastinated getting the whole afternoon, something way too boring for the evening about how the anatomy of the insides had come to align with the bone structure in the torso so well over the course of the homo sapiens’ evolution.  
  
The coffee machine whirred, the barista yawned, and Angelica used the counter to hold herself upright, trying not to fall asleep standing up.  
  
On her way back to the cubicle, she strolled through the shelves, sipping on one of her coffees while looking for the book, her neck starting to ache from being tipped back for so long. When she spotted it up in a high shelf that definitely didn’t get cleaned often enough, she placed her coffees on a free space on the shelf and stood on her toes, slipping the heavy thing into her hands and looking down at the worn grey cover with a small sigh.  
  
Suddenly, Angelica was tackled by someone, a second pair of hands on the book, pulling, and she let out a shriek of a pitch she hadn’t deemed humanly possible, exasperation and anger flooding her tired, tired mind as without conscious effort, she gripped the book tighter and clung onto it for dear life, struggling for purchase.  
  
The guy was cursing, pushing her shoulder, and she shouted an incoherent sentence, throwing herself against his in return. He let out a yelp and threw himself back. Pain shot up Angelica’s arm, and she let out a growl, grabbing the book tightly, lifting her leg and jamming her knee into his hip without really thinking about it.  
  
He yelped, immediately letting go of the book and stumbling away as she tucked it securely beneath her arm, pushing her hair back and picking up her coffees. Her head was spinning; she couldn’t believe that had actually just happened. She had just fought a guy about a boring anatomy book. What had her life come to?  
  
She could feel the guy’s eyes on her as she walked away without a word, could hear him curse and mutter and sigh, and then, he raised his voice to shout after her to go fuck herself. She spun on her heel, glaring back at him and flipping him off, still not willing to form actual words just for this _prick_.  
  
He let out a loud, agonized groan, threw his hands up in the air, and his voice was shaking when he raised it again. “For fuck’s sake! It’ _bloody_ _Christmas_ and I haven’t slept in 32 hours, you’re not the fucking only one who has to study for exams, lady! Let’s at least share the goddamn thing!” he shouted in a heavy, desperate British accent, a pleading look in his eye, and Angelica stopped in her tracks, turned back at him and arched an eyebrow.  
  
“Well, excuse you, you’re the one who literally _jumped_ me,” she bit, pressing the book closer against her chest. It smelled old, that specific kind of schoolbook smell of mold and passive aggressiveness.  
  
The guy looked at her, then sighed again. “Look, I know. That was a shit move, and I’m sorry, but _please_. I need that book.” He looked like he was on the verge of tears, and Angelica bit her lip, looking down at her two cups of coffee and then back up.  
  
“What’s your name?” she heard herself ask as she took a step towards him. He smiled the tiniest of smiles.  
  
“John. Church,” he sighed, and she huffed a laugh, thinking _well, he sighs a lot._ She took a step backwards with a sleepy grin, pointing at her cubicle at the end of the shelf.  
  
Maybe it was the studying or the lack of sleep talking, or him reminding her of the fact that it was Christmas, or simply the fact that the way the guy’s glasses were all crooked on his wide nose was kind of endearing, but she didn’t want to fight him. Jemmy always tended to remind her that not the whole world was bad, that sometimes, she needed to be nicer to people who didn’t mean her any harm, and Angelica had really been trying to do that.  
  
And after all, she had two cups of coffee.  
  
“Come on then, get your stuff, John Church, “She said with a smile, and he laughed breathily, lifting his eyebrows.  
  
“Are you serious? After I jumped you like that?”  
  
“Don’t make me change my mind!” she shouted as she retreated to her cubicle. She could hear him laugh that pretty laugh again, then shuffle away. She strolled on, glad to find her studying material untouched and un-stolen as she set down the coffees, dropped the book on top of her desk and herself into the chair, leaning back with a deep sigh and starting to massage her temples.  
  
The world had stopped spinning a little by the time she could hear John’s steps return, but Angelica kept her eyes shut while he pulled up a second chair to the other side of the desk and finished setting up his material.  
  
After that, there was a brief silence, and she could feel him eyeing her. For a second, she cursed herself for not having put on something nicer than her oversized NYU hoodie, but then realized that he was wearing just the same hoodie, the only difference being that his was grey, not violet like hers, and that it didn’t matter anyway, because they were studying, and nobody was expected to look good while studying, not even her, and also, _it didn’t matter and she shouldn’t be thinking about it this excessively_.  
  
“Are you asleep?” he asked after a beat, evidently amused, and she chuckled tiredly, straightening and reluctantly reopening her eyes.  
  
“Sadly not.” He grinned weakly when she pushed one of the coffee cups across the table  
  
“You’re basically saving my life right now, are you aware of that? You have that book, and you have coffee, and I don’t even know your name,” he muttered as he happily accepted the cup and took a big gulp, probably burning his tongue and throat in the process.  
  
“The name is Angelica. Schuyler. And yes, I am aware.” Angelica tried for a smirk, but it drowned in a yawn; she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, listened to John chuckle and sigh. He reached for the book and flipped it open, asking her if she had to read chapter four, too. She nodded, starting to massage her temple again with her left hand, pulling up a word document on her notebook with her right.  
  
“Ready?” he asked, glancing up at her from his notebook. She nodded, and as she leaned over the book lying in front of them, she muttered “Merry Christmas John Church.”  
  
He sighed, and leaned forward as well, clicking his mechanical pencil for highlighting before he raised his voice.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Angelica Schuyler.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> -“Joyeux Noël, mon chéri,”  
> ~ Merry Christmas, my darling.  
> -“Joyeux Noël à toi aussi, mais… s’il te plaît, chérie, on peut rentrer à la maison maintenant?”  
> ~ I wish you a merry Christmas, too, but... please, darling, can we go home now?
> 
> Couting Christmas trees that you can see from the street on a walk on Christmas Eve is kind of a tradition in my family. Idrk if anyone else does it but it's great I like it


	2. Maria Lewis - Eliza Schuyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing up the coffee shop, communication with an unborn child, domestic bliss

 

MARIA LOOKED UP FROM HER HANDS WASHING OFF PLATES IN THE SINK as the kitchen door flung open and Lafayette stormed in, muttering angrily in rapid-fire French, a box of leftover baked goods in his arms and hair tumbling out of his ponytail. He dropped the boxes by the fridge and turned around with a dramatic sigh, facing Maria, who had to work hard on suppressing a grin.  
  
“Ils sont incroyable, des clients! C’est une catastrophe, Maria ! C’est Noël, oui, mais des gens sont toujours très désobligeant! Qu’est-ce que sont leurs problèmes ? Mon _dieu_ !” He shook his head with a genuinely sad frown, and Maria pulled off her silicone gloves with a smirk.  
  
“Oui, oui, mon ami, bien sûr. Des gens. C’est la cata au Café Adrienne. Mais c’est _Noël_ ! Incroyable !” She teased, and he rolled his eyes, leaning back against the counter.  
  
“Tease me all you want, there will come a day where I will have to resign from this job. It’s giving me, how you say…?” He drummed his fingers on the countertop, staring holes into the air, then snapped his fingers with a grin. “Bad vibes, oui?”  
  
Maria cooed. “Please don’t resign. Ever. This place wouldn’t be the same without you,” she said softly, putting the gloves back on and grabbing a plate out of the sink to scrub it. Laf shifted behind her, sighing.  
  
“Oh, I don’t know. People come here for the coffee, not for us, after all, and I don’t even quite know what I want to do here. I mean, I came to New York a couple of years ago and I still haven’t really done anything except open a coffee shop and make friends, have I now? I haven’t done all those New York things you’re supposed to do when you come here. I haven’t once visited the statue of liberty and I haven’t ever been on top of the Empire State Building. I thought that if I come here, I’d be immediately really and completely inspired and write a book or something, but I haven’t really done anything.” Laf lifted and dropped his hands, and since Maria didn’t really know what to say to that, she didn’t say anything, and after a stretch of silence, Laf repeated his gesture with a sigh and a tired smile and pushed the kitchen door open again, disappearing into the shop, probably to put the chairs on the tables and start cleaning the floors.   
  
Maria thought of her abrupted college education, and what she had found just because she had quit college. A job, friends, Eliza, and now she was getting married and having a child with her. Her head started spinning a little at that train of thought, and she stared firmly at the plate in the sink, the soap washing down the drain as she cleaned it off. It was quiet in the kitchen; the Spotify playlist of Christmas songs she’d put on earlier had ended, and now it was just her, the sound of the running water and her thoughts.   
  
Maria often asked herself if what she’d done in her life was enough to she even deserved all the good things that had happened to her in her life, if the bad stuff was really bad enough to make up for the good stuff.   
  
Maria didn’t know if she’d deserved to get away from her family and into the foster system, if she had deserved to get a scholarship to study singing and theatrical arts at Columbia, if she had deserved to get out of that relationship that had stolen so many years of her life away and if she had deserved to get a good job, find friends and love and if she deserved to get married to Eliza in barely a month. She seriously didn’t know, and she didn’t feel like she did.   
  
She knew she shouldn’t be thinking about this. It was stupid, and it got her nowhere, she knew that, and her therapist had given her so many actually good tools to get rid of these kind of thoughts, but Maria couldn’t think of breathing exercises and calming moments of her life right now, because she had to finish doing the dishes, and she had to get home, or Eliza would worry, her dear Eliza. Why had Maria even agreed to work on Christmas Eve, anyway?   
  
Suddenly, the door opened again, and Laf, muttering beneath his breath in French, looked through the closet by the door for the broom that Peggy always used to wipe down the floors in the evening and then put away in the weirdest places. He seemed to notice Maria fiercely scrubbing the plate, and abandoned his search, approaching her slowly and leaning against the counter next to her, smiling at her softly. “Est-que tu va bien?” he asked with a tiny worry between his eyebrows as he eyed her deer-in-the-headlights expression staring up at him.  
  
And again, Maria didn’t quite know what to say. Was she alright?   
  
Had she ever been alright?  
  
She blinked, shrugged and put the last plate to the side, pulling off the gloves and turning around to lean back against the counter with a sigh, as well. “I’m fine, I was just… I was just thinking about something,” She muttered, and Laf nodded slowly, picking up the dishcloth Maria had prepared and starting to dry off the plates, cups and cutlery she had washed.   
  
“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked without looking up. Maria crossed her arms, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she curled into herself a little.   
  
“I don’t know, Laf. I was just… I don’t know. It’s dumb. You would just laugh at me or something,” She replied quietly, staring at his slim, long-fingered hands moving the towel over the smooth porcelain of the plate that the Frenchman was looking down at calmly.  
  
“I promise I won’t laugh,” he said sincerely, and she chuckled, a little embarrassed.   
  
“It’s stupid.”  
  
“It’s not stupid if it is bothering you,” he retorted, the corners of his mouth curving upwards, and she nodded silently, mothing a “ _Right”_ and slinging her arms around her torso with a sigh.  
  
“It’s just-“ she started, then left off again, biting her lip and worrying her brow in frustration. “I just can’t stop thinking about Lizzy. Our wedding. Like- “ She sighed again. “Even before, when we were ‘just’ girlfriends, I felt like she was way too good for me – you know how it is – because, well, she’s Lizzy, she’s too good for everyone, and like… I don’t know. I just don’t deserve her, I never have, and she’s just always been so kind to me, and so forgiving and patient and all that, and now she’s _marrying me_? And in like, barely half a year we’re having a _baby_?” Maria scoffed, throwing her hands up before running them through her hair. Laf had stopped scrubbing the plate, was frowning at her softly.  
  
“Do you feel like you’re moving too fast, or…” he left off, and Maria shook her head quickly.   
  
“No! No, absolutely not, I love her so much, and I really, really want to marry her and spend the rest of my life with her and…” she felt herself smile as her voice grew soft. “And raise a kid with her, and move uptown. And like, see her grow old. See how her face gets creasy, and her hair gets sparse, and I want to see her happily celebrating her own 90th birthday or something. And I want to sit on the front porch when we’re both retired, I want to hold her hand and trace lines across the back of it still in fifty years. I really do want all of that stuff, I want the Christmases and the Thanksgivings and the New Year’s eves, and the travel plans and the good and the bad and the ugly.”   
  
Maria had started fidgeting with the cuff of her red turtleneck, and her cheeks were aching from smiling so hard, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. “I want to marry her so badly. I want to make her so happy. I want to give her the best life I can, but…”   
  
She drew in a breath through her teeth, lifting her eyebrows at nothing in particular as she continued. “But I don’t know if I even deserve to want that, or like, I feel like it’s such a privilege that I get to be with her, but I don’t think I deserve it because- what have I ever done? For her, I mean?” She met Lafayette’s eyes briefly. He was watching her closely, he had set the plate down and was frowning sadly, blinking slowly when she continued.  
  
“Do I even make her happy? How can someone as, like, broken, and… and fucked up and attention-seeking and nagging and twisted and horrible as me even _begin_ to be enough for anyone? For her?” Maria blinked heavily and swallowed, trying to bring her eyes to stop watering as she lifted her eyebrows at Laf in question.   
  
She hated how those words still rolled off her tongue so easily, after all this time. Even after years of therapy and processing and taking meds and working and working and working on herself, even when every day, she woke up and felt like she was living the best life she could right now, there was always this lurking potential of falling back into old habits and mindsets.   
  
The past haunted her everywhere she went, in her sleep, into the coffee shop, into her therapy sessions, into her home, into her bed. It was like she was continuously being watched by someone, just watched, not even attacked but just watched closely, continuously.  
  
“But- Eliza loves you. You know that, Maria. She loves you more than anything,” Laf breathed, and she scoffed, shrugging.   
  
“That doesn’t mean anything if I’m not good enough, though, does it?” she replied, and he blinked, looked at his feet, and nodded softly.   
  
“I understand.”  
  
Maria blinked the heavy heat boiling behind her eyes away and frowned, burying her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “You- you do?” she asked softly, and he nodded, unwilling to meet her gaze.   
  
“Yes. I understand. You have the feeling that even though she constantly tells you that she loves you, she’s not telling the truth. Because you can’t imagine people _actually_ loving you.” He looked up at her briefly, then started drying the plates again. “So yes. I understand.”   
  
Maria watched the side of his face for a moment, her eyes wide, then raised her voice again.   
  
“That’s probably what’s bothering me most of all. That I will never _truly_ know if I’m enough for her, if she’s unhappy with me, because _of course_ , she would never tell me, she’s Lizzy. She’s the most selfless fucking perfect person I have ever had the privilege of knowing, and I’m just so…” She looked around the kitchen, trying to find the right words, her heart fluttering. She felt a little sick; every time she talked for longer than a minute without a response, some kind of affirmation to hold onto, she grew dizzy and her stomach started aching, and she asked herself why she couldn’t just function like any other normal person, and then, the word popped up, and Maria’s lips parted. She looked at her hands.   
  
“I’m just so _grateful_ ,” she murmured. “I’m so grateful for finally, _finally,_ you know… getting to have something like this?” She sniffed, an embarrassed laugh escaping her. Her curls flew as she turned her head, her gaze jumping around the kitchen nervously, avoiding Lafayette.   
  
“And I’m not sure if I can trust it. I don’t know if I’ll ever make her happy, even though I’m trying, and I will keep trying, and I will keep being grateful, and… I guess that has to be enough for me, you know?” She could see Laf wiping at his eyes from the corner of her eye, and laughed wetly.   
  
“I guess I’ll just never get the whole experience of a balanced relationship or a balanced existence in general because, I don’t know, because some part of me might just have stopped working. A part that knows it deserves good things.”   
  
When she’d finished, she drew in a shaky breath and finally looked up at Laf, who was watching her out of wide, brown, glossy eyes, seeming genuinely upset about her words. He was shaking his head softly, and when she made and awkward noise, asking what he was doing, he shook it more insistently.   
  
“Maria. I know it’s not helping, but… you’re enough, okay? I could go on and on about why you’re an amazing person, but I think you know damn well what’s so incredible about you, so I’ll skip that part. There’s a reason Eliza chose to marry you, okay? And it’s not out of pity, or because she doesn’t know how to tell you that she doesn’t want to, but it’s because she loves you. Just as much as you love her. And because she wants to spend the rest of her life with you, as well. Just as much as you want to. And I know the universe has continuously worked on keeping you feeling defeated and small, but you’re not. You’re so strong, just for existing, and for making it this far.” Maria rolled her eyes. She really didn’t want to listen to this, but Laf hurried to continue.   
  
“It shows you’re so strong, and resilient, you’re incredible just by being alive and breathing in a world that has constantly tried to bring you down and silence you.” He paused, and when she didn’t say anything, he continued.   
  
“Because it’s hard, I cannot imagine how hard it must be. But I know what it feels like to think that all of the progress you’ve made doesn’t matter, even though you’ve made so much of it. And I understand it’s hard to keep going, always keep going, it’s like driving a bike when the wind is coming from the direction you’re going in, there’s always this voice in the back of your head, telling you to just stop trying because it would be so much less exhausting. So much easier to give in and just, I don’t know, turn around and head back home and sleep or something.”   
  
Maria looked up at him, holding her breath and biting her tongue as he struggled for words. He placed his hands on her shoulders carefully, and eyed her pleadingly while he took a breath and then pressed his lips together, shaking his head softly.   
  
“Do not give in to that voice, Maria. If it is for Eliza, or yourself, it does not matter, as long as you just don’t stop trying.” She still couldn’t quite breathe, and he carefully took her hand, placed it on her own chest, where she could feel her own heart racing. She looked down at it, thought of how her body was continuously actively working so hard to keep her alive, upright and breathing, and looked back up only when Laf raised his voice again.  
  
“Don’t give up, because there’s a life that is past patiently waiting to be lived, Maria. Ne gardes pas l’attendre, “ he breathed, and Maria bit her quivering lower lip, trying to keep the sob in her chest, melting into Lafayette’s chest when he pulled her into a careful, warm hug, rubbing her shoulders as she no longer managed to keep her tears to herself.  
  
They stayed like that for quite a while, and Maria cried and cried for what felt like half an hour, until nothing came, and she managed to reopen her eyes, unclench her hands from the Frenchman’s hoodie, and pull away. He brushed her hair back and smiled down at her while she sniffed, and hiccupped, wiping her nose again and again.  
  
“Better?” he asked, and she glanced up at him, shrugging sheepishly.  
  
“Un peu,“ She murmured, and he laughed heartily, smoothing her hair down.   
  
“Bien. Tu peux rentrer à la maison maintenant, si tu veux. ” He turned around, took her coat, scarf and purse off the hook they always occupied by the kitchen door and helped her put her coat on.  
  
She slung her scarf around her neck and smiled up at him softly, sniffling. “Thank you, Laf. It’s just… it’s always a little worse on Christmas. I’m sorry,” She said, pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.  
  
Laf shook his head. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for. I’m always glad to help. Now go, or you won’t catch your train!” he nudged her towards the kitchen door, laughing, and she let herself be guided into the shop and to the front door. It was snowing outside; Maria looked at the white flakes falling behind the glass for a second, then turned around to Laf, who had left her side and had apparently found the broom crammed beneath the counter and was shaking his head to himself in disbelief as he was cleaning the floor behind the counter. She said his name, causing him to look up.  
  
“What is it?” he asked with a smile, and Maria saluted to him, grinning goofily.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Lafayette,” she said, and his smile deepened.   
  
“Oh, well, thank you. Merry Christmas, to you, too. Say hi to your fiancée from me.” He waved a little, and she nodded, nuzzling into her scarf as she pulled open the door, cold air and snowflakes blowing into the shop.  
  
“I will!” Maria shouted. She could still see Laf smiling from the corner of her eye as she stepped out into the snow and started striding down the sidewalk, the wind at her back.

 

“’IN A HOLE IN THE GROUND, THERE LIVED A HOBBIT. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort,’” Eliza paused, shoved her thumb into the book to mark the page, and looked down at herself, at her stomach beneath her grey sweater.   
  
“What do you say, Pip? Do you wanna live in a hobbit hole, too? Should we move into a hobbit hole?” She tilted her head, smiling as she ran a hand over the side of her bulging stomach.   
  
She had been spent her entire Sunday at home, assembling the Christmas tree, wrapping her last presents for their friends and cooking and just lazing about, reading and talking to her stomach. Which was how most of her days went, since Eliza’s mother was incredibly anxious about the fact that she was pregnant, asked her stay at home a lot and regularly came over to cook for them and clean their apartment. Neither Maria nor she knew what to do to stop her, so they didn’t.   
  
Eliza knew she was barely four months pregnant, had only just started her second trimester, and that she really didn’t have to take that much care yet, but she didn’t particularly mind. It was nice, getting to do nothing and be the complete center of attention for once. It really was nice.   
  
She still went to work, obviously, and every day had her friends, especially Alex and Laf, gush about her stomach. Alex regularly wanted to talk to Pip – he was actually the one who had started referring to him with the nickname, and fortunately, it had stuck – Herc had already given her multiple self-made items of baby clothing, and Peggy refused to make her coffee at the shop because it wasn’t good for the baby. “Is it okay for the baby, though?” was probably the sentence Eliza had been hearing the most lately, in general. Everyone kept saying it, except maybe Maria.  
  
Their wedding was in January, a week or so after Alex’ birthday. Eliza had managed to convince Maria of setting the date in winter, after all, and she was glad, because it didn’t take a genius, only a couple of words typed into google to know that she would most likely be pretty big by at least February.  
  
Eliza sighed, and touched her stomach again, tracing lines on it, asking herself how it was possible to simultaneously be terrified of and completely and utterly infatuated with the thought of someone’s existence. Every time she tried to imagine herself holding a little boy in her arms by May, her heart started racing, and her lips spread into a smile, giddy and excited and head-spinning-happy, and still, she was so scared of it at the same time. It was that specific kind of fleeting anxiety that came with handing in important papers, or singing a song in front of a group of people you know well, the kind that started at the back of the knees, and wandered through the stomach up to the head until you felt a little dizzy and didn’t really know where it had come from.  
  
Eliza retrieved her thoughts from that corner of her mind and focused on moving into a hobbit-hole again.  
  
“Or-“ She frowned to herself, then looked back down at her stomach. “Maybe I’m a little too tall for that. Maria might fit, but not me. I’m pretty tall, but you probably know that.” She let her fingertips march over her abdomen. “Maybe you’ll be a tall one, too. An elf, hm…” she trailed off, unable to stop herself from grinning when her own words forced her to imagine herself, Maria and their son in Middle Earth attire, hunting together somewhere in a deep, dark forest.   
  
“Or will you be a small one? Being small is not bad, you know? You’ll be able to sneak everywhere. See everything without anyone noticing.” A thought occurred to her. She chuckled breathily, placing the book cover-up on the couch next to her.   
  
“When you’re here, and a little older, like one and a half years or so, maybe I can take you with me to work. And you can run around – or crawl around. Distract everyone from work by looking absolutely adorable. And you can meet all of Mommy’s friends then. For example, your Aunts. Angie, and Peggy. Oh, they’ll love you so much.”   
  
She was smiling so widely now, drawing hearts onto her stomach. She believed to feel something stir within her, but maybe it was just her wanting _so badly_ to feel him move, some kind of proof that these past few months hadn’t been a dream, that he was actually _there_. Eliza brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, tipped her head to the side, and continued talking.  
  
“Peggy will constantly want to play with you. And then there’s Alex, he’ll want to read you so many stories, and John will want to draw with you. And Herc will knit you so many hats that you will have one for every day of the week.” She smoothed creases in her sweater down., her smile smoothening and softening, and she arched towards her stomach a little, placing both her hands on the sides of it.   
  
“I can’t wait to finally meet you. My heart races every time I think of you, can you hear that?” She mimed the beating of a heart, making soft sounds, and believed to feel him stir again. Even though she knew he wasn’t big enough to move yet, she could imagine him. Imagine what he would look like when he would be big enough to move, could imagine what he would look like when he was finally here.   
  
Tiny hands. Smooth, olive skin. And huge, brown eyes, and dark, shiny hair, and feet that fit into the palm of her hand.   
  
Eliza let out a sigh, and smiled again and picked the book back up, flipping it open and looking down at herself again.   
  
“Should we keep reading, Pip?” she asked, and since obviously, there would be no answer, she just agreed with herself, licking her thumb to flip a page.   
  
“Yeah, I thought so,” she said with a self-satisfied grin, and then took a deep breath. “’It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle’*.”   
  
She kept reading out loud and running her hands over her stomach, the sky outside the window turning darker and darker as Christmas lights on the tree next to the couch dipping the room into soft, warm light, and the quietly ticking wall clock by the kitchen door neared 7pm.  
  
Eliza was so caught up in the book and the sleepy silence she shared with herself and Philip that she didn’t really realize the front door had unlocked and opened, then been closed again until Maria’s steps were coming down the hallway, her Doc Marten’s sounding heavy on the dark wood of the floors.  
  
She looked up, eyebrows lifted when the footsteps stopped at the door into the hallway and spotted Maria, shoulders hunched and a tired look in her eyes. She was still wearing shoes, her scarf and coat, and Eliza smiled, pushing her thumb into the book again. She twisted around carefully, a hand on her stomach, and looked at her fiancé.   
  
“Hey,” Eliza said, frowning a little when Maria didn’t reply, just leaned against the doorframe and watched her, fiddling with her keys. “Are you alright?”  
  
She didn’t say anything again, and just eyed Eliza with a strange look, the book on the couch next to her, the hand on her stomach, the Christmas tree. Then, she looked at her feet, inhaling.  
  
“Had a rough day,” she murmured. Eliza sighed softly.   
  
“I’m sorry to hear that. Why don’t you…”   
  
Maria was already dropping her bag and slipping off her coat, kneeling and unlacing her shoes. She kicked them off and padded towards the couch.   
  
“… join us, then,” Eliza finished her sentence with a chuckle, scooted over to make room for Maria and held her arm out as the other woman climbed onto the couch and laid down, her head on Eliza’s chest. She curled up next to her, and Eliza put an arm around her, smiling down at her as she twined a hand in her hair. They were silent for a moment. Maria ran her hand over Eliza’s stomach, her eyes absent.  
  
Eliza brushed her chin-long curls away from her face, stroking her cheek, causing her fiancé’s eyes to fluttered shut as she leaned into the touch. Eliza tilted her head  
  
“I told you not to go to work on Christmas Eve, honey.” She paused. Maria nuzzled into her hand, encouraging Eliza to keep running it through her hair. Maria sighed and relaxed into the touch, letting her eyes slip shut.  
  
“Of course you did. And I went to work anyway. And now I regret it.” She reopened her eyes and looked up at Eliza, smiling after a second. “It’s okay, though. I’m just a little exhausted.” She sounded genuine, so Eliza decided to let it slide.   
  
“Anyway, what are you guys reading?” Maria straightened a little, leaned over Eliza and grabbed _The Hobbit_ before she could protest.  Maria flipped it and had a look at the cover, then dropped the book and looked up at Eliza accusatorily.   
  
“Really? Again? Didn’t we get like a ton of children’s books for you to read to him?” she asked dryly, shaking her head with a fond smile, and Eliza shrugged sheepishly. “I can’t help it. Guess it’s intuition, it was my first book, too.”   
  
Maria looked up at her with a grin. “He’s not even born yet,” she laughed when Eliza sulked.   
  
“But he’s my little Philip! If I want to read him complicated obnoxious books from the 30’s, I can. Tell her, Pip!” Eliza put a hand to her stomach again, and Maria laughed, a deep, sleepy sound.   
  
“I knew it,” she whispered, and Eliza arched an eyebrow, blinking.   
  
“What was that?” she asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing slightly. She turned Maria’s face up to look at her properly, and Maria took the opportunity, leaned in and kissed her briefly.   
  
“Nothing,” she sing-songed, sounding very self-satisfied as she lay back down on her chest, going back to drawing circles and hearts and small leaves on Eliza’s stomach with a fond smile. Eliza started running her hands through her hair again, reveling in the calmness and intimacy of the moment, in Maria’s heartbeat she could feel against her ribcage a little.   
  
After a while, Maria turned her head and looked up at Eliza, smiling. “Can you keep reading?” she asked softly, and Eliza laughed.   
  
“It’s almost 7, we have to be at Peggy’s place in half an hour, we should get ready.”  
  
Maria pulled a face. “Please?”   
  
Eliza rolled her eyes, picked the book back up, and flipped it to the first chapter for the second time today. Maria closed her eyes with a smile, nuzzling into her and only opening her eyes again when Eliza tugged at a strand of her hair softly.  
  
“Hey, honey. Are you really okay?” she asked gently, pushing Maria’s hair away from her forehead. The other woman’s skin and hair were warm beneath her hands, and Eliza couldn’t bring herself to stop touching her, so she didn’t.  
  
Maria blinked, and after a beat of silence, nodded and smiled, took her hand and kissed her knuckles softly.  
  
“I am now,” she hummed, drawing a heart onto Eliza’s belly, and Eliza chuckled, nudged her shoulder and twined a hand in her hair, drawing in a breath. “Good.” She muttered, then focused on the book.   
  
Maria closed her eyes again. The world turned, and they breathed; the three of them, until Eliza broke the silence.   
  
“’In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.’”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  -“Ils sont incroyable, des clients! C’est une catastrophe, Maria ! C’est Noël, oui, mais des gens sont toujours très désobligeant! Qu’est-ce que sont leurs problèmes ? Mon dieu !”  
>  ~ These customers are just unbelievable! It's horrible, Maria! I mean, it's Christmas, and the people are still just being so impolite all the time! What is their problem? God!  
>  -“Oui, oui, bien sûr, mon ami. Des gens. C’est la cata au Café Adrienne. Mais c’est Noël! Incroyable!”  
>  ~ Yes, yes, of course, my friend. The people. It's just horrible here at the Café Adrienne. But it's Christmas! Unbelievable!  
>  -“Est-que tu vas bien?”  
>  ~ Are you okay?  
>  -“Non, écouter!"  
>  ~ No, listen!  
>  -"Ne gardes pas l’attendre."  
>  ~ Don't keep it waiting  
>  -“Un peu. “  
>  ~ A little.  
>  -“Bien. Tu peux rentrer à la maison maintenant, si tu veux. ”  
>  ~ Good. You can go home now, if you want
> 
> (And yes Maria is bilingual fight me)
> 
> The book Eliza is reading to Pip is 'The Hobbit' by J.R.R. Tolkien because I'm a massive nerd.


	3. Hercules Mulligan - Gilbert du Motier - Peggy Schuyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baking, singing, texting home, more domestic bliss because why not

 

“HERC? BABY, COME ON. TELL ME.” Peggy wriggled in her seat on the kitchen island impatiently, clasping her ukulele tightly with a grin plastered to her face.    
  
They were in the kitchen and Herc was making cookies for later. Alex, John, Maria and Eliza were coming over later to watch a movie and, according to Alex, drink all their alcohol, and Herc had decided to get started on the cookies without Lafayette because the Frenchman was just taking so long in the coffee shop downstairs. Peggy had come home at around 6 pm, and, after sitting on the couch reading for a while, she had joined him and his cookies in process with her ukulele and started playing him Christmas songs.  
  
Now she’d ran out, and she kept wanting to know Herc’s favorite carol so she could play some more.   
  
Herc rolled his eyes with a sigh, grabbing a whisk and starting to stir the dough in the bowl, squashing the bits of half-melted butter he’s just added. He picked it off the surface of the kitchen island, pinned it to his abdomen with his free arm and took a step back, looked up at Peggy and immediately got flour on the front of his sweatshirt.   
  
He cursed beneath his breath softly, put the bowl down and tried to get the white powder off of the black material. Peggy almost lost her balance on the countertop, yelping as she tried to tug on his beanie, not the usual, stretched grey one but a more seasonally appropriate red and white striped model, pulling it off in the process.   
  
“Oh, _please_! Do you even have one?” A realization passed over her features. “Wait… is it that embarrassing one you sang in the shower this morning?” she whispered with a smirk, leaning down towards him where he had picked the bowl back up and was vigorously stirring. He glared up at her briefly.  
  
“It’s not,” he growled after a beat, and she giggled, sitting back.  
  
“Are you sure? You seemed pretty passionate about Santa hurrying down the chimney to do the deed with you then.” Herc rolled his eyes again, decided to just go back to ignoring her and reached around her waist to add more flour to his bowl of dough.   
  
There was a silence, him working and her watching him, then Peggy sighed, sinking into herself a little.  
  
“You’re really not going to tell me? Is it something racist? Is it… is it _Last Christmas_?” He pulled a face and shook his head vigorously.  
  
If Herc really thought about it, he didn’t know what his favorite Christmas song was. He’d never really thought about it. His favorite part of Christmas wasn’t the celebrating and the presents and the carols, anyway, he just liked the sense of domesticity and yearning for peace it usually gave the people around him. During the rest of the year, he’d always felt like he was the only one constantly longing for calmness, especially back when he was in college, or interning with some upper-east-side fashion designer, but in the approach of Christmas, once the stress of December started coming to an end, he reveled in the way everything seemed to just slow down a little.   
  
So, no, he hadn’t ever paid much mind to Christmas songs, or decorations, for that matter, and so when Peggy ripped him out of his thoughts with a “ _White Christmas_? To be honest, I’d be disappointed if it were _White Christmas_.”, he threw his hands up in the air with a huffed laugh.   
  
“Jesus, Peggy! I _really_ don’t know, I don’t think I have one!” He laughed, shrugging and rubbing at his neck, glancing up at her disappointed expression, holding his breath while she pouted a little, probably even unintentionally. She seemed genuinely upset, looked down at her uke and started playing “Build me up, buttercup”, singing the first words sadly, and Herc sighed, stepping up to her and running his hands over her thighs gently, taking her strumming hand and kissing it softly to get her attention.   
  
“Look, babe. How about you just play your own favorite Christmas song? Just do something _you_ want to do. We talked about that, didn’t we? Being there for yourself for once, being selfish every now and then is not a sin or some shit, Peggy. Even if it were, it’s important to do it every now and then.” He cupped her cheek as she whined, displeased, trying to flee from his touch. He ran his hand through her hair and tugged on it softly to get her attention back. “Hey, love…”   
  
She finally looked at him, eyes big and brown and trusty, and he pulled her down towards him, pausing when his lips were just off hers and waiting for her consent.   
  
She gave it by putting her ukulele aside, twining her hands in his hair and leaning down to kiss him slowly and deeply. He could taste the dough she’d kept stealing from his bowl earlier on her tongue as she pushed it into his mouth, pulling him closer. He obliged, stepping up between her legs, leaning against the counter and running his free hand that wasn’t wandering up and down her side over her thigh while she groaned softly and deepened the kiss, her hands gripping his hair tightly.   
  
She pressed herself flush against him and cupped his jaw with her hands, nails digging into his skin where his pulse was fluttering beneath it. She bit his lip, nipping at it softly, and he let out an incoherent noise at that, felt his head spinning and chills going down his spine. He stepped away from her a little, regretful, hummed against her lips in protest as she tried to keep him there, keep kissing him.   
  
“Peggs. Peggy,” he breathed against her lips, in between kisses, and she finally sighed, and let him pull away. He smiled up at her, still not able to keep himself from running his hands over her thighs as she picked her uke back up.  
  
“So, my favorite it is, then,” She said with a soft grin, and arranged her fingers before starting to sing the first notes _of Have yourself a merry little Christmas_.  
  
Herc listened to her soft, smooth voice attentively. It was warm and comforting and familiar, stunning, sent chills down his spine as he turned back around and picked the bowl back up, smiling as she sang, her voice and the kind of understated sound of her ukulele echoing through the kitchen and living room.  
  
He tried to focus on the dough. It was thick, ready to be made into actual cookies by now, and Herc started kneading it into small round shapes, his hands and the kitchen counter covered in bright flour that he was getting everywhere. Peggy sang, and Herc rolled the dough, and tried to focus, but his mind and gaze kept slipping to her, and finally, he gave in and turned his head up to look at Peggy.   
  
She was sitting up straight, her eyes were closed, and her wide lips curved up into a smile. She was so clearly enjoying what she was doing, enjoying singing; was so clearly loving listening to her own voice and was reveling in the fact that she had his undivided attention, and it caused Herc’s heart to flutter a little.   
  
Peggy had grown so much since she’d started college; she’d gotten much more confident and outspoken – if that was even possible – and started a You Tube channel for her singing, and it had been such a pleasure to see her grow as a person and a creative all the same, and now she was here, after a long day of work on a holiday, ever selfless, ever astonishing, and singing for him.  
  
Herc stared up at her dreamily.  
  
_Oh Peggy, Peggy. You blow us all away._  
  
Herc couldn’t stop the smile creeping into his face as the song came to a close; Peggy stopped singing, and the loft was very quiet for a minute, until she opened her eyes, rubbed at the back of her neck and caught him staring at her. She laughed at his intense gaze, a little embarrassed.   
  
“What?” she chuckled, putting the ukulele aside and uncrossing her legs, watching her own toes stretch with a soft set of crackles.   
  
Herc shook his head, watching Peggy smile and yawn, and fasten her bun, put her hands on the edge of the counter and shift her weight onto them.   
  
“I love you,” he heard himself say, a little bluntly, and Peggy looked up at him in surprise that quickly shifted into a grin.  
  
“Oh, really?” she said smugly, letting her legs dangle as she stretched a hand out in his direction, pursing her lips, and Herc rolled his eyes again, his smile deepening, and abandoned the goddamn cookies, crossing the kitchen and standing on his toes to cup her face. She leaned in with a self-satisfied smile, but Herc paused again when he was just off her lips.  
  
“You’re incredible, Peggy.”  
  
She scoffed, grabbing his wrists and trying to close the distance with a soft noise. “Shut up,” she grumbled, but Herc shook his head, his lips spreading into a heady grin.   
  
“No, I mean it. You’re the most amazing person I know, Peggy Schuyler. Don’t let anybody ever convince you otherwise,” He whispered, and Peggy eyed his face, leaning her forehead against his for a second.  
  
“Thank you for saying that,” she said quietly, and he shook his head.   
  
“You would have known it without me. I just wanted to say it to make sure you got the memo,” he muttered truthfully, and Peggy huffed a laugh, the warmth of it brushing Herc’s lips, making him a little dizzy.   
  
“Thank you for saying it anyway,” she said, before cradling the base of his neck and attempting again to close the distance.   
  
Herc reluctantly held her back again, a hand in her hair. He was probably getting flour into it, but she didn’t seem to care. She was too busy whining once more, and staring down at him with blown pupils.   
  
“Merry Christmas, Schuyler,” he breathed, unable to stop himself from smirking, and she let out a frustrated laugh.  
  
“You too, Mulligan,” she hummed half-heartedly, and Herc smiled, satisfied as he closed the gap.

 

AFTER MARIA HAD LEFT, Laf finished cleaning up the shop, a little worry between his eyebrows as he thought about their conversation, more specifically, about what Maria had said about all the things she wanted to experience with Eliza – Christmases and Thanksgivings, moving to the suburbs, seeing her grow old.   
  
Her wishes had made him think of nights earlier this year, when he’d spent a lot of time wondering whether his relationship with Peggy and Herc could actually work out. If they would be okay, and if they could juggle their relationship as well as life and work and growing up. It was a lot. It was just a lot, and Laf worried about it ending in a huge argument one day, because it had just gotten too much.   
  
He often asked himself if he would get to live all those things Maria had talked about. He wondered if they could ever be happy the way Eliza and Maria were, just because it was so different from what Laf had thought would happen in his life. He had imagined a wife or a husband, and a kid, and a bright-walled house somewhere in the country, or back in France; but not this. Not a loft shared with his two lovers, and a coffee shop he was managing in New York City.   
  
He grinned, a little giddy and anxious at the thought of how exciting, how amazing and beautiful his life was, before frowning again.   
  
He really didn’t know how his relationship with Peggy and Herc was going to work out. After half a year, he still didn’t know. They were kind of just figuring it out as they went. His lack of knowledge and the lack of representation of it made him feel dumb and invalid way too often.  
  
Still not quite at ease but feeling very calm when he had finished cleaning, he emptied the register, turned off the lights and locked up the shop, standing outside with his hood on for a while and looked at the façade of the coffee shop. Snow got caught in the fabric of his hoodie as he stared up at the white longhand letters that read the shop’s name, smiling softly.   
  
“Joyeux Noël, mon cher café,” he muttered, and startled when his phone buzzed. He reached into his back pocket, shielding it from the snow and immediately recognizing Adrienne’s number. His smile deepened, his cheeks almost aching a little as he unlocked it.  
  
> Adrienne de Noailles: Salut  
> Adrienne de Noailles: We haven’t talked in a while, how are you on this wonderful Christmas Eve, little brother  
  
Laf rolled his eyes fondly, and typed back.   
  
> Gilbert du Motier: I’m just going to ignore the fact that you just called me your young brother even though we’re literally exactly the same age  
> Gilbert du Motier: And I’m your stepbrother but okay  
> Gilbert du Motier: I’m doing well, actually. Just locked up the shop, going home now  
  
> Adrienne de Noailles: You’re working on Christmas Eve?   
  
> Gilbert du Motier: Well yes  
> Gilbert du Motier: I’m a hardworking person  
  
> Adrienne de Noailles: A true American oui  
  
Laf stifled a grin.  
  
> Gilbert du Motier: Shut up  
> Gilbert du Motier: Mon cœur bat encore pour mon cher Fra  
  
She took a while replying, the bubble of the three dots appearing and disappearing a couple of times before a reply finally came.  
  
> Adrienne de Noailles: Hah. Staying bilingual, I see  
> Adrienne de Noailles: I miss you  
  
Laf sighed softly, sniffed and slowly walked back to the shop as he typed, leaning against the wall beneath the sign.  
  
> Gilbert du Motier: Ah Adri. I miss you too  
> Gilbert du Motier: How is it living next to Thomas and James?  
  
> Adrienne de Noailles: They’re having a lot of sex so earbuds are my best friend now. It’s alright.  
> Adrienne de Noailles: Although I did prefer having you live there  
> Adrienne de Noailles: I really do miss you. Your mother is terrible without you at Christmas dinner  
  
Laf grinned at his phone, his breath white in the light of the screen.  
  
> Gilbert du Motier: What is she doing  
  
> Adrienne de Noailles: Complaining about my meal. She says it’s too American  
> Adrienne de Noailles: How is vegan turkey with mashed potatoes and cranberries American  
  
> Gilbert du Motier: I can kind of see where she’s coming from  
  
> Adrienne de Noailles: trAITOR  
> Adrienne de Noailles: Anyway. What are you doing on New Year’s  
  
> Gilbert du Motier: Nothing much  
> Gilbert du Motier: Peggy wants to watch the fireworks at Times’ Square so that’s probably what we’re doing  
> Gilbert du Motier: Why  
  
> Adrienne de Noailles: Uh, I was thinking of flying to the states? To visit?   
  
Laf’s eyes widened. He wiped a snowflake off the screen and hurried to type a response.  
  
> Gilbert du Motier: OMG  
> Gilbert du Motier: YES  
> Gilbert du Motier: PLEASE DO  
  
> Adrienne de Noailles: Hehe  
> Adrienne de Noailles: I will ask father after dinner ^^  
  
> Gilbert du Motier: That would be so great! Everyone really misses you here  
  
Laf was about to type something else, then hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. Finally, he added:  
  
> Gilbert du Motier: Maybe you can stay for good this time  
  
He regretted it immediately afterwards when Adrienne didn’t respond for a whole minute, not even when he said that she didn’t have to. And when he was still standing outside after three minutes, the message still left on read, he slowly typed a goodbye.  
  
> Gilbert du Motier: I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.  
> Gilbert du Motier: Joyeux Noël, Adrienne ♥  
  
After, he pushed his phone back into his pocket with mixed feelings and walked the few steps through the snow to the front door of their new apartment building just above the coffee shop and unlocked it, leaving a trail of snow in the foyer with his sneakers as he made his way to the stairs, his eye glued to his feet.  
  
He cursed himself for bringing that topic up in their conversation. It was a sensitive one, and whenever they talked about Laf returning to France or Adrienne moving to New York, they got into a fight about it. Laf didn’t know exactly why, if it was just because of how much they missed each other or because of the circumstances of his move to the states a couple of years ago – or if he was being completely honest with himself, he knew it was the latter.   
  
Laf kicked the steps of the stairs, frowning as he ascended to the third floor. He walked down the hallway to their loft, ignoring the buzz of his phone in his pocket and getting his keys out, but paused when he reached the door, his hand lifted as he frowned, leaning closer to the door to hear better.  
  
Through the wood, from the kitchen, he could hear Peggy singing faintly.  
  
Despite his grumpy mood, Laf couldn’t help but smile when he heard her voice, muffled by the distance and walls of the apartment.   
  
He unlocked the door hastily, pushing the heavy door open and slipping inside.   
  
He was greeted by warm air and the smell of freshly made cookies. He started toeing his sneakers off as soon as he was inside. Peggy had stopped singing, and he could hear her and Herc’s voice, the sound of Peggy’s uke being put down, a chuckle, a whine.   
  
Laf closed the door behind himself before making his way down the short hall, past the bath- and bedroom and to the living room, where he dropped his backpack on the couch as he passed it, and looked over to the kitchen, where he spotted Peggy sitting on the edge of the kitchen island, Herc between her legs. They were kissing slowly Peggy letting out small, breathy sounds, Herc’s hands siding over her wide thighs, and Laf felt a slight rush of heat as his eyes lingered on the two of them for a second.   
  
He chased it away quickly and leaned against the edge of the couch, grinning and shaking his head as he watched them.  
  
“So this is what you guys get up to when I’m gone? What a shame that I always have to work so late,” he hummed after a while, and they jerked apart, both taking a second to spot him, a little disoriented.   
  
“She was singing.  I couldn’t help it, you know how it is,” Herc said, a little out of breath, looking up at Peggy with wide eyes and a smile. Peggy blushed and chuckled, a little flustered, and while Herc turned around to the kitchen counter and went back to forming cookies on the tray he had already prepared. Peggy watched him for a second, then crabbed her uke and turned her back on him, facing Laf, who had peeled out of his hoodie and started unpacking a box of fairy light strings that was still sat on the couch. Half of it had already been placed around the living room earlier today, illuminating the windows and their tiny, potted Christmas tree. It was the one they had used for Christmas last year at the old apartment with John, their first found-family Christmas together in New York, when Herc had refused to buy a ‘dead plant just for his own pleasure’ and bought a living tree that had spent the entirety of the year out on the fire escape. Needless to say, everyone had forgot to water it most of the time, and it hadn’t really grown much over the past twelve months. It was still –  miraculously – alive, though.  
  
“Laf, what’s your favorite Christmas song?” she asked cheerily, throwing Herc a mischievous grin and giggling when Herc let out a groan, throwing his hands up dramatically.  
  
“ _Tell her_! Just tell her _something_ , anything, or she will annoy you forever!” he advised Laf over his shoulder and Laf paused in the process of putting a string of fairy lights over the back of the couch, looking up at Peggy, excited, and Herc, who was looking at him pleadingly.   
  
His eyes shooed from one to the other, and he felt put on the spot. He hummed something, unsure what to say, so he just went with the first song that came to him.   
  
“Uh, perhaps the one with the woman who… uh, wants nothing but her lover to come home for Christmas- what was it called again?” he was still busy trying to think of the song – Christmas, please come home? – when Peggy clapped her hands, letting out a triumphant laugh as she grabbed her uke.   
  
Herc seemed to now have realized what song Laf had meant, and stared at him. “Seriously? _That_ song? How am I in a relationship with you?” he asked, and Laf frowned, wondering what was wrong with it.   
  
“What? I think it’s very romantic,” he offered, and Herc just rolled his eyes, waving his hand in his direction dismissively.   
  
“My job here is done,” he said sarcastically, going back to the cookie-making, and then, Peggy started singing.  
  
“ _I don’t want a lot for Christmas_ ,” she started off, deep and velvety, and Laf, unable to suppress a groan, realized that they hadn’t been talking about the same song.   
  
“No, Peggy, not that song!” he begged dramatically, a laugh creeping up his throat, and Peggy just shrugged, playing the next chord.   
  
“You brought this on yourself, Motier,” she shouted in his direction, accompanied by a giggle, and continued singing. Herc and Laf exchanged a look, a sigh, and finally, a fond smile, and continued their work, resigning to their fate.   
  
Laf kept putting up Christmas lights, and Herc kept making cookies, and Peggy sang, and the snow outside fell, and Laf remembered how worried he’d been earlier about his talk with Maria. How when she’d talked about all the things she wanted to experience with Eliza, and how Herc, Peggy and he would work out.  
  
 But now, when he looked around the warm loft, at his lovers shuffling around in the kitchen, he stopped worrying if the three of them would get to live all those things Maria had talked about earlier. Just because they were three instead of two didn’t mean that they couldn’t be in love, that they couldn’t have Christmas parties with their friends, that they couldn’t kiss and be horribly domestic and peaceful. Laf just had to have some trust in the other two, and it would all work out. It would all be fine.   
  
When Peggy finished the song, Laf abandoned his work on the fairy lights, and crossed the room in a couple of steps to stand on his toes by the kitchen island, pull her down towards him and kiss her cheek, saying that she was the greatest miracle of all, Herc making an affirmative noise in the background.  
  
Laf didn’t go back to decorating the kitchen after that, but instead sat down on the counter next to Peggy, shoulder to shoulder and joined in when she started singing O Come O Come Emmanuel. Laf and Peggy sang, and Herc smiled up at them adoringly every now and then as he placed two finished trays of cookies in the oven.   
  
They soon ran out of songs again, and in the silence that built, Peggy, warm and small, leaned against Laf’s side with a small, happy sigh.  
  
The only sound in the kitchen were the soft noise the oven made, and Herc washing off baking   
utensils in the sink.   
  
“How have our lives become so fucking domestic?” Peggy asked after a while, her face buried against Laf’s shoulder.   
  
Herc huffed a laugh turned around at that, quickly wiped his hand on the side of his jeans and grabbed Peggy’s hand that wasn’t intertwined with Laf’s, kissing it, before looking up at the two of them, leaned back against the counter. “It’s Christmas, Peggy. Which is the one day of the year where nobody stops me from boing unapologetically soft and nice to everyone. I will not let that opportunity pass, ever.” He nodded, self-satisfied, his jaw set, and Peggy chuckled with an eye-roll.   
  
Laf let out a soft noise of protest when she pulled her hand away, picking her uke back up and starting to sing _Christmas in the room_.  
  
Laf closed his eyes, leaning against her shoulder, allowing himself to drift off a little while she played the intro, and jolting out of his half-sleep when the doorbell rang and Peggy threw her uke aside, jumping off the counter.   
  
“I’ll get it!” she shouted as she darted off down the hallway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation(s):  
>  Mon cœur bat encore pour ma chère France  
>  ~ My heart still beats for my beloved France (is that a sentence lmao)
> 
> Also for anyone who is confused about Adrienne and Laf: they're practically siblings in this universe and I do nOT support incest so


	4. John Laurens - Alexander Hamilton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve walks, grave-visiting, kisses and the start of a Christmas get-together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for this chapter: emotional and physical abuse is explicitly mentioned (John remembers some stuff about his father)

 

“SO, CHRISTMAS,” Alex said with a small sigh, shivering and leaning heavily into John’s side when a heavy gust of wind blew his hair away from his forehead. John chuckled, putting his arm tighter around his boyfriend’s shoulder as they walked in the semi-darkness of the mostly empty Brooklyn Heights promenade. Manhattan was bright and glowing across the river, reminding John a little of the night Alex had returned in September, and the wind cut across the waves sharply, driving the two boys ever closer together.   
  
They were on a walk that Alex had decided they should do before going to Herc, Peggy and Laf’s place later, which he, judging by how tightly he was pressing against John’s side, trying hard not to shiver, he regretted.  
  
He squeezed Alex’ shoulder. “We can go back home, you know? Nobody’s forcing us to go on a Christmas Eve walk or whatever.”  
  
Alex shook his head firmly, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. “No, we’re doing this,” he retorted, a shiver going through his small body again, and John grinned at him, kissing his temple and keeping his mouth there afterwards, nuzzling him and smiling against his ice-cold skin.   
  
“You’re freezing,” he whispered into his ear, intentionally letting his lips brush Alex’ earlobe, and the other boy jerked away, laughing, his cheeks tinted bright red either from the cold air of the evening or because of John’ actions.   
  
“Leave me alone, Laurens! I’ll live, okay?” he grumbled, pulling a beanie out of his jacket pocket and burying his hair, ears and basically half of his face beneath it, scowling as he returned to John’s side. He looped his arm through the other boy’s now, looking at the city across the river and laughing to himself.  
  
“Seriously, though. Is it always this- “ He sneezed, and John bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. “-this _fucking_ cold in goddamn New York? Cold and expensive, that’s all you’re good for!” his voice got loud towards the end of his sentence and he kicked a pile of snow as they passed, pointing his hands accusatorily across the river to the One World Trade Center. John laughed, a little embarrassed, and pulled his hand down, intertwining their fingers.   
  
“Relax. We’ll just get you home,” he said, and Alex looked at him, wide-eyed.   
  
“No, please. Let’s walk. This is nice. Can I use your coat pocket?” he asked, pushing their intertwined hands into John’s warm coat pocket without waiting for an answer. “Anyway. Back to what I wanted to ask. How is Christmas in South Carolina? Because the only time I actually visited the Carolinas was when we were with this really conservative foster family that gave us away as soon as the summer was over, so I don’t know much about it.”   
  
There was a pause, and John sighed with a reluctant shrug. “Well, what do you want to hear?” Alex didn’t say anything, just shrugged briefly and looked at him, and so John just decided to fill the silence. He drew in a breath.  
  
“It’s not very cold. It doesn’t snow, and if it does, it melts into, mud as soon as the sun comes out. Everybody goes to church. We went to church, too, or, my Dad and my stepmother did. We usually stayed at home, and Martha and I made dinner,”  
  
“Who is…”  
  
“Martha?” John shot him a half-frown-half-grin. “I bet I already told you about her a thousand times and you just don’t remember. I talk about her a lot. She’s my sister, she’s two years younger than me. Crazy smart, and really brave. She’s great, but- we don’t talk a lot anymore, not after… not after I ran away,” he murmured, unable to tell Alex that the real reason he and his sister didn’t talk a lot wasn’t his flight to New York but went a little further back. He stared at his feet, feeling guilty for lying to Alex, who squeezed his hand, making him jump a little. He looked back at him as Alex chewed on his lower lip, searching for words.  
  
“And… uh, how was Christmas with your Dad?” he asked quietly, hurrying to keep talking when John tilted his head, loosening his grip on Alex’ hand, humming his name. “Only if you’re comfortable talking about it! You don’t have to, obviously.”  
  
John glanced up at him briefly, chewing on the inside of his cheek, smiling and shaking his head softly. “It’s… it’s fine.” He swallowed.  
  
“But I don’t really remember anything,” he lied, even though stray images were returning to him. Of course, he remembered a bunch of stuff, especially Christmas Eve 2010, when he had been 13. That year, his step-mother Eleanor, a righteous, mild woman with wonderful blonde hair, who didn’t like him a lot but at least didn’t completely despise him, had stayed with her sister over Christmas for reasons that nobody had actually explained to them.   
  
It was the year where Martha had gotten a violin for Christmas, and where Mary-Eleanor, seven years old at the time, had accidentally dropped a plate at dinner, and his father had yelled at her, and John had stepped in, and his father, completely furious, had hit him, told him to shut his mouth and stay out of it, had dragged everyone from the dining table to the salon and burned all of John’s presents in the wood stove. Books, drawing utensils, a polaroid camera, melting and burning and crackling and sizzling and spreading the smell of burned plastic so far through the house that that night, John could still smell it on his sheets as he cried himself to sleep.  
  
And only three years later, 2013, the year where Martha had played a solo at the school’s Christmas concert and earned herself a standing ovation, half a year after his step-mother had divorced his father and moved in with her sister full time, the year in which it had actually snowed for once. John had come home from boarding school for the holidays, and at dinner, his father wouldn’t stop talking about immigrants invading the country, and John hadn’t spoken. John had kept his mouth tightly shut, because he’d learned that it didn’t make a difference if he spoke up or not, staring at his plate and feeling sick.  
  
And at some point, it had been Martha who had spoken up, crazy brave, thirteen-year-old Martha, pointing out to a narrow-eyed Henry Laurens that John, his son, was a person of color himself, and that he shouldn’t talk like that about immigration, that he should think about what he said before he said it, and their father had gotten angry, the way he did, and said that John was a faggot, a mistake, and not his real son, and that he couldn’t care less what he was and that as long as Martha ate off his table, she should keep her stupid thoughts to herself.   
  
John remembered his heart pounding in his throat, feeling sick and horrible about his father’s words, and grateful but also ashamed that his thirteen-year-old sister had been the one to speak up for him and was taking their father’s shit now when really, it should have been him.   
  
He remembered chewing on the inside of his cheek until it bled to keep himself from crying in front of everyone while Martha had stared at their father. Slowly put her cutlery down, said “Very well,” wiped her mouth on her napkin and left the dining room. And they’d sat in silence, and everyone had stopped eating, and when Martha slammed the front door behind herself, his father had stood and told John to get up, which he did. His father had told him that if he didn’t go after Martha and brought her back by the end of the hour, he wouldn’t like the consequences, reminded him of the presents he’d burned last year, and that he might do something like that again, or maybe something else.   
  
And John hadn’t even cared about his presents, had obliged, gotten his jacket and ran out into the snow, chasing through the town crying his eyes out, freezing, until he found Martha on a bench in the school yard, surrounded by unpacked Christmas presents, sobbing and shaking all over, John’s present – a book about sea biology – pressed to her chest. He remembered saying her name, sitting down next to her, pulling her close.   
  
They had sat in silence, both of them crying, John apologizing again and again for getting her into this situation and her asking again and again why he as apologizing. He remembered not knowing a proper answer.   
  
After a while, he had turned her face up, holding it in both his hands, and said they had to go back home. That they had to be strong, and she had sobbed and said that she’d never been strong. That she couldn’t be strong much longer, that she didn’t want to go home. That she’d rather freeze out here than go back home, back to _him_ , and John remembered saying that he didn’t want to go, either, but that they had to, because otherwise he’d probably do something like last year. Only worse.   
  
Martha had cried even more after that, breathed into the darkness that she was so scared. She had said it again and again, that she was so scared, and John hadn’t known what to do to make her stop, so he shushed her and hugged her tightly. Because he was so scared, too – he’d always been scared, and couldn’t imagine himself ever not being scared. It had still been snowing, the white flakes settling in their hair and on their clothes and on Martha’s presents, swallowing all the noise hungrily, drowning it all out.   
  
She had held him close, and quietly told him what she’d gotten him for Christmas last year. A huge new sketch book, and Copic markers, five new pencils, paint brushes and new aquarelle colors. That she had spent all her pocket money on it, and John had cried harder and held her back, thanked her a thousand times, and then helped her carry her books back home.   
  
He remembered sitting on the kitchen floor with James and Mary-Eleanor and hugging them, keeping them quiet as they shook with fear, listening to their father yelling and Martha crying in the dining room. That night, his father had burned all of Martha’s presents, along with the book John had given her, and he’d beaten her up so badly that John had had to stitch up Martha’s wounds in the bathroom later.   
  
He remembered sending her another copy of the book a while after Christmas, and receiving a huge box of art supplies in return. That summer, his father had taken him out of the boarding school, because he’d found out about John kissing another boy, and he moved back in with him. The next half year had probably been the worst of his life, especially after his father didn’t allow him to go with his siblings when they all moved into their mother and aunt’s place in Charleston. He’d lived alone with his father and his slowly declining career in their way too big, cold, uncomfortable house, and John had barely left his room.   
  
Whenever he had left his room, he’d done his best to not say anything to make his father angry, had joined the football team at school and tried dating a girl, had done all that his father had always wanted him to do in a helpless, desperate attempt to keep him calm and satisfied and not get him riled up.   
  
By the summer, his father had somehow decided that John deserved his trust fund after all, and that summer, John had graduated and moved to New York, and here he was now. Here he was.   
  
“John? Babe, are you alright?” Alex’ voice made him snap out of his memories, and he blinked, returning to reality, to _here, New York City. With Alex, Christmas Eve, my father down in South Carolina, not here, not here.  
_  
Alex was still staring at him, looking seriously worried now, and John blinked again, shaking his head to clear it from his thoughts. He felt watched; uncomfortable in his coat, uncomfortable in his skin, but Alex was squeezing his hand, stopping them in their tracks and frowning up at him, touching a warm hand to his cool face.   
  
“John. _Shit_. Are you okay?” He squeezed his hand again, and John got the weird feeling that Alex’ hand was the only thing keeping him grounded, and it was comforting, to know that there was someone just looking out for him. Seeing to that he stayed where he was. Getting his mind back home when it wandered.  
  
He looked down at Alex, and nodded a little hastily, swallowing, and tightening his grip on Alex’ hand. _Here. Now.  
_  
“Yeah… I’m fine. I’m fine. Just… can we not talk about that? Maybe- maybe some other time.” He swallowed again, leaning harder on Alex, who watched him warily, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. Come here,” he muttered, and pulled John in, tucking John’s head beneath his chin. It was a little uncomfortable because of their odd height difference, but then, John leaned into it, and it was nice, it was warm, and he John leaned into Alex, letting him keep him upright, trying for an even breathing pattern. He was here, and here, he was safe. He was safe.   
  
When after a while, Alex wanted to pull away, John let out an almost startled sound, tightening his grip on him, desperately wanting him to stay close to him. He wasn’t quite sure if he could stand by himself yet, and honestly, he didn’t want to find out.  
  
When the world had stopped spinning, John pulled away carefully, let Alex take his hand again, push them into his jacket pocket, looked at the river. The kept walking, and Alex took a breath.  
  
“So, I reckon Christmas in South Carolina is bullshit,” he said matter-off-factly, and John laughed half-heartedly in agreement, his voice still a little shaky. “Is it my turn then? Yes? Good.” Alex grinned, before continuing.   
  
“I don’t remember a lot of Christmases either. And after I turned ten, well, it’s all kind of a blur. I remember a lot of different hospital rooms, and I remember getting a lot of awkward but well-meant presents from Washington, even when he was just the old doctor’s assistant. But mostly-“ Alex shrugged a little sadly.   
  
“Mostly, it’s just either really blurry or really sad. The year before my dad left, that was pretty horrible. After Mom was diagnosed, and we got into the foster system, Jemmy and I tried spending every Christmas with her at the hospital. And like, our foster families almost always made it work and drove us up to New York, which was great.” He was smiling now. John watched the side of his face. The cold night wind moved over the promenade again, a couple of snowflakes getting caught in John’s hair and on Alex’ hat. John shuddered, pushing Alex down the next path into the park, away from the river and back to the street.   
  
“Are there any happy ones? Memories, I mean?” he asked softly, and Alex looked up, frowning slightly, a little absent.   
  
“They’re not all bad. Of course not. There is this one really nice Christmas Eve that I remember, though, I think it was when I was like four years old, so 2002, when we lived in San Juan, and that Christmas which was like-“ His frown deepened, and he laughed a little. It had started snowing properly now, thick white flakes floating to the ground all a-round them as John watched Alex attentively. The gravel and ice crunched beneath their shoes as they went, making their way through the silent park.  
  
“It was nothing special, not at all. I was at home, and my dad was reading me this, this…” He gestured vaguely with his free hand, and John couldn’t help but smile when he continued.   
  
“He was reading me this book about dinosaurs, or something. In the living room. I was in his lap- and I was tugging his hair out of his bun. Probably driving him insane,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. John laughed warmly, swaying into his side, the gloomy, uncomfortable mood his own memories had left him in starting to disappear while Alex’ words came alive around him; a tiny Alex in a tall man’s lap, laughing a high-pitched children’s laugh, calling his dad a pterodactyl because his nose was so long.   
  
“And then, my mom came home, with my brother, and-“ He shrugged again. “Mom and Dad cooked. And James helped. And I ran around my Mom and told her a ton of stuff about dinosaurs that she probably knew before. And it was great.” He sniffled softly, glancing away.   
  
“It was great.” Alex drew in a deep and heavy breath. “I just remember being so happy, and so… content and thinking about it still makes me feel so light and peaceful. Which sounds dumb-“  
  
“It doesn’t sound dumb at all,” John protested, squeezing his hand.   
  
“-but, I don’t know. Dad left. And James became an asshole. And now I’m in New York. And Mom has been dead for half a year. So, this is kind of- this is my first Christmas without her,” his voice grew thin towards the end of his sentence, and John realized they had stopped walking again, were standing in the blowing snow, close to each other in silence.  
  
“So, in conclusion… Christmas is not exactly our happy place,” John muttered after a while, and Alex laughed softly, wiping at his eyes.  
  
“I guess not.” He tipped his head back with an exasperated sigh when his eyes welled up again. John grinned a little, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him into a half-hug.  
  
“Can we change that? It’s such a nice holiday. Can’t we be happy? I want to be happy,” Alex breathed into John’s ear, and John looked at their footprints behind Alex’ back, his eyes hooded. He buried his face in Alex’ scarf, inhaled his scent, and nodded softly after a while.  
  
“We can try,” he murmured, and Alex exhaled, his second arm coming up and wrapping around John.  
  
“I love you,” he sighed into John’s neck, causing his lips to curl into a smile.  
  
“You, too.” John sniffled and slowly untangled himself from Alex and poked his backpack handle before wrapping his arm around Alex’ shoulder again.  
  
“You want to get this over with so we can go home?” he asked softly, and Alex bit his lip, nodded, took John’s hand off his shoulder and pushing their hands back into his pocket.  
  
  
THEY MADE THEIR WAY BACK THROUGH THE PARK HAND IN HAND, both chasing after their own thoughts, every now and then one of them tipping their heads back to catch snowflakes with their mouths, laughing giddily around loads of breath.  
  
Once they reached Atlantic Avenue, they crossed the street and strolled down the sidewalk, glancing into illuminated and for Christmas decorated shop display windows and making way for passing pedestrians walking faster than them.   
  
The gate to the cemetery was locked when they reached the church, so they went in through the main gate.   
  
Inside, it was warm and dark, the benches filled with people, the altar illuminated and a children’s choir, dressed in black and red singing. It was probably a private Christmas mass, so John hurried to pull Alex down the flanking aisle on the left of the church as quietly as possible. The children were singing _O Holy night_ in high, smooth voices. Alex was searching the choir with his eyes as they hurriedly made their way to the back door, and he believed to spot little Theodosia in the soprano before John pulled open the heavy wooden back door and him out into the cold and snow.  


  
They paused once they were outside. The gate slowly fell shut behind them, separating them from the warmth and noise of the church, and the snow was falling all around them again.   
  
The church yard was silent, covered in white, and they stood for a moment of awe, looking around at the perfect solitude and muteness the snow and the high cemetery walls created. After a while, Alex let go of John’s hand, slipped off his backpack and opened the main pocket, getting the sunflower that he’d been carrying around out carefully and zipping the bag shut again.  
  
He made a step away from the gate, walking down the steps to the snow-covered gravel path and turning back to John when he raised his voice.  
  
“Uh, do you want me to- should I just wait, or…” Alex frowned up at him, and walked the steps back up, taking his hand again.  
  
“Of course not, John. Come on,” he said, laughing a little, nodding down towards the cemetery. He started walking again, pulling a silent John down the steps and across the snow-covered lawn, through rows of graves and to the familiar group of now bare linden trees.  
  
By the time they reached Rachel’s grave, they were both quiet, inside and outside.   
  
They stood in front of the wooden cross sticking out of the snow, and Alex leaned forward, placing the sunflower in the snow, next to the defunct candle. He pulled the sleeve of his jacket past his wrists and wiped the snow off the cross, freeing Rachel’s name of its white blanket before straightening again, taking a step back and returning to John’s side.   
  
He looped his arm through John’s and leaned against him as they both looked down at the grave.  
  
It filled Alex with a weird, numb sense of loneliness. Not even that he was lonely, but the wooden cross between all the white, with the candle and the too bright sunflowers in the snow, it seemed such a lonely place for Rachel to be. He didn’t want to leave her here. He wished there was a way to take her soul away from this col church yard, put it into a box or something, carry it around with him, bring it to their get together, keep it warm somewhere. Read to it.   
  
He wished they didn’t have to leave her in this cold, cold place, where the snow silenced all noise, where there was nothing to warm yourself on.   
  
Alex turned his head away from the grave, into John’s shoulder, let out a breath and tried to stop himself from crying.  
  
Last year, he’d fallen asleep at the hospital in Christmas Eve, and in the morning, he’d woken up to Washington bringing Rachel breakfast and a present – a book about Frida Kahlo wrapped in shiny, green paper – and him coffee and a bagel from the hospital café and a notebook and expensive pens wrapped in the same paper as Rachel’s. A few days before, Burr and Alex had put up a small, only slightly crippled Christmas tree in her room, and on Christmas morning, they had turned on the fairy lights and Rachel, Burr and he had drunk tea together, and Alex and Burr had sung Christmas songs together.  
  
And this was what was left? A wooden cross, a little faded and chipped by sunshine and rainfall, a single sunflower, and this silence, this horrible, _horrible_ silence. And all the snow. All this goddamn snow that made everything so strangely sleepy and mute.  
  
On this first Christmas without his mother.  
  
He was properly crying now, and John seemed to notice as well, because he wrapped an arm around him, pulling him tighter against his body, shushing and rocking him through it.   
  
“Hey… Alex, baby… it’s going to be alright, it’s all going to be alright,” John breathed into his ear, his eyes still on the grave, and Alex bit back a sob, shaking his head.   
  
“No- no, nothing will be alright…” he shivered when John kissed the side of his neck, nuzzling him and running a hand through his hair.  
  
“It is. I swear it’s going to be alright. You can manage. We can manage. It’s okay,” John whispered into his neck, and Alex just cried harder. Fingers digging into John’s back. But John didn’t let go. He held him for at least ten minutes while Alex cried and cried and couldn’t stop. John held him when he hiccupped, John shushed him when he whispered that she was gone, John ran his hands through his hair when Alex had finally calmed down but still didn’t feel like letting go.  
  
They stayed like that until John hummed Alex’ name, loosening his grip, and Alex obliged. He pulled away and watched as John knelt over in the snow, picking the candle up and taking the cap that protected the flame from the snow off. Alex sniffled and wiped at his nose, and John got a lighter out of his pocket and relit the candle, the lighter illuminating his face briefly before he put the cap on the candle again and got up, brushing bits of snow off his jeans.  
  
He stepped back again and offered Alex his hand, which he gladly accepted, because his head was spinning a little, and he was afraid he’d fall over without John holding him up.  
  
They stood for a little longer, watching the candle burn in the dark and snow until Alex sighed.  
  
“Feliz Navidad, Mamá,” he muttered, then squeezed John’s hand and turned away from the grave, pulling John along back to the church gate.  
  
They headed back to their sleepy street slowly in silence, holding hands as they walked past Alex’ old street, past their apartment building, where on the fifth floor, the fairy lights on the bookshelf illuminated the living room window of their apartment. Made their way past the dark flower shop and the closed Café Adrienne and to the front door of their friends’ apartment building.   
  
John let them in with the spare key Laf had given them when they’d moved out – accompanied by a tearful “You are always welcome here” – and walked up the wide stairs to the third floor, still holding each other’s hands inside Alex’ jacket pocket.   
  
When they were in the hallway, they could hear Peggy singing _All I want for Christmas_ inside, muffled but nevertheless beautiful, and it caused them to exchange a smile.  
  
They paused at the door, still hand in hand and both slightly reluctant to give up their solitude and silence, and John let out a heavy breath, looking down at Alex.  
  
“Ready?” He asked with a small smile, his hand reaching for the doorbell, but Alex, a little unaware of what he was doing, shook his head, reached out and, in a rush of need for intimacy and lack of the words he wanted to say, twined his free hand in the back of John’s hair to pull him in and join their lips in a slow kiss, catching John off-guard. John’s eyes fluttered shut as Alex step-by-step backed him up against the loft’s door carefully, a hand on the front of his jacket, unzipping it and slipping his hand into the warmth of it as he pushed his tongue into his mouth. John gasped against Alex’ lips, his hands coming up to cup Alex’ face and keep him close.  
  
Alex ran his hand over John’s side, eager to get as much contact out of the kiss as possible. He felt John shiver at the feeling of his cold hands sliding over his torso, accidentally rucking his shirt up as they went. They broke away for a few seconds, and John breathed his name softly, pulling Alex closer and running both his thumbs over his cheekbones as he eyed his face, pupils blown.  
  
“Alex,” he whispered again, making an effort to keep quiet, and he sounded so absolutely smitten that Alex couldn’t help but smile softly. He shushed him, leaning back in and pressing his warm lips to John’s once more, swallowing a soft noise the other boy made. John followed him willingly when Alex wound an arm around his neck and pulled him away from the door, deepening the kiss, both their breathing loud in the quiet of the hallway.  
  
They parted for breath again after a while of just kissing, resting their foreheads together and Alex grinned breathily when John, having to clear his throat twice before asking, his voice a little thin “What was that for?”  
  
Alex took a moment, swallowing around his words.   
  
“Nothing, really, just- Merry Christmas.” He paused, drawing in a breath, enjoying the proximity and intimacy of the moment as he shifted more into John’s embrace. “Thank you for putting up with my shit. Thank you for having me,” he muttered, and John huffed a laugh, put a hand around his neck and kissed him again, hotly and openly and dense with hunger. It was brief but still stole all the breath from Alex’ lungs, and he was still staring when John leaned back a little, eyeing his face with an adoring glint in his eye, a small smile on his lips.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Alex,” he replied finally, and then, they were kissing again, slowly and deeply, hands in hair and on backs and cheeks and chests, and even though Alex got the idea that they should probably stop here, that they had been standing out here for way too long already, he couldn’t bring himself to.   
  
Instead he gasped against John’s lips when John bit his tongue gently, wound his arms tighter around him and let himself be pressed against the door to their friends’ apartment, whispering small, only halfway coherent sentences about how much he loved him and how grateful he was that he got to be with him in between kisses, John humming sweet little responses.  
  
In the end, it was John who managed to break away. He pressed one last chaste kiss to Alex’ lips, gave him a second to straighten his shirt and wipe his mouth and run his hand through his hair, sorting it out a little. By the time he looked at John again, his hand was just off the doorbell again, and he was smiling at him, his lips a little swollen.   
  
“Ready now?” he asked with a grin, and Alex nodded, straightening the collar of John’s jacket before taking his hand.  
  
“Ready whenever you are,” he replied with a small, content sigh, and John pressed the doorbell before straightening, his shoulder brushing against Alex’ own.  
  
They could faintly hear Peggy stop singing inside. She shouted something, and then there was feet thudding down the hallway. John squeezed Alex’ hand, and Alex squeezed back.  
  
Then, the door opened.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation(s):  
> Feliz Navidad, Mamá  
> ~ Merry Christmas, Mom (woooow this is as far as my Spanish goes. Like I started studying French this year so I guess I kind of improved with that, but Spanish is still just on the list of things I will do after I graduate ehehe. I probably managed to get even that up there wrong bc I'm a disaster with legs...)

**Author's Note:**

> So. That was that. Hope you liked, definitely plEASE let me know if you did and what you thought about all the lil starts of backstories and stuff (because honestly, that was the main point of writing this. Further Character establishing.)
> 
> ABOUT THAT.  
> In writing this, and in returning to the characters of Brooklyn Flowers (which, as always, has just been such a pleasure oh lord) I realized just how much we actually haven't explored in this universe. John's youth, for example, Lafayette's immigration to the states, what happened to Maria, how Eliza and Maria met and how Herc, Peggy and Laf arranged their love triangle/now relationship, how Thomas and Jemmy got to where they are now, and how the flower- and the coffee shop were founded. And now, I don't know if you guys are excited to find out, but I definitely know that I am, and that writing this collection brought me so much closer to realizing just how much I don't know about my characters yet.
> 
> So, a lot of you have been asking for it since September. And I don't know when yet, because like I said, life is horrible and messy and stops for nobody, but I know that I want it to happen, and so I promise that it will.
> 
> *deep, very very excited inhale*  
> I have multiple concepts for a sequel to Brooklyn Flowers!!!!!!!  
> SAY WHAAAT  
> yES I DO!!!!!!! THIS IS HAPPENING AND OMG AM I EXCITED I HOPE YOU ARE AS WELL  
> It's going to be either Marliza, Jeffmads or Muletteggy, and if you want, you guys can choose which one you want to read first.
> 
> Phew. How exciting. Now I actually have to do this hahaaa I love commitment ^^'
> 
> Anyway. I hope you guys liked this, that you don't want to lynch me for the wait and the re-upload and all that mess, and that you all had wonderful, happy holidays, whatever or whether or not you celebrate. I love you all very much and I hope to see you happy and healthy and full of hope and expectations in this new year. I'll be here with a lot of new stories to tell.
> 
> Everyone have a good New Year's day and 2018!  
> Love, Marlene xx


End file.
